Wit Stop

These Days Dining Out Can Be More Testy than Tasty

In my journeys to Arizona, I've had some unique dininging experiences an outdoor barbecue in Tucson while a dazzling lightning storm entertained us; a meal at a mountaintop restaurant near Phoenix where I guzzled beer from a cowboy boot mug. In fact it was in Arizona that I first tasted rattlesnake. It was tasty, but before biting into it I felt I should have warned it. It would have done as much for me.

Dining out at one time was a relaxing experience. Someone else would cook for you, serve you, and clean up after you. All you had to do was chew, swallow, and pay for the food. No longer, though. Lately dining out has become a stressful event. You feel like a laboratory rat who has to struggle through a maze every time he wants a chunk of cheese.

"Good evening," the maitre d' said. "Table for four?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Smoking or nonsmoking?"

"Nonsmoking."

"Would you prefer to dine indoors or out this evening?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know. I guess indoors would be good."

"Very well, sir," he said. "Would you like to be seated in the main dining room, the enclosed patio, or our lovely solarium?"

"Oh . . . uh . . . let me see . . . uh . . ."

"I can give you a table with a lovely view in our lovely solarium."

"I think the solarium would be lovely," I said.

We all followed him into the solarium.

"Now, would you prefer a view overlooking the golf course, the sunset on the lake, or the majestic mountains to the west?"

"Whatever you recommend," I said. Let him make a decision for a change.

He sat us by a window facing the golf course, the lake, or the mountains. I couldn't tell which because it was dark outside.

"Good evening, my name is Paul, and I'll be your waiter. May I take your order or would you like a few more minutes?"

"You can take our order."

He began with me.

"I'm just a meat and potatoes kind of a guy, so I'll have the filet mignon and a baked potato."

"Soup or salad?"

"Salad."

"We have a mixed green salad, hearts of palm, or a very fine endive salad with baby shrimp."

"Just a mixed green salad, okay?"

"Whatever you say, sir. Dressing?"

I didn't want to make another decision. "Whatever you've got will be fine."

"We have creamy Italian, blue cheese, vinaigrette, Thousand Island, honey Dijon, ranch . . ."

"Just bring me one of those."

"Which one, sir?"

"Any one, okay? Surprise me."

"The creamy Italian is our house specialty. Would that be all right, sir?

"Yeah." I was curt. I was done with civility.

"And your baked potato . . ."

I knew what was coming, and I didn't want any more questions. "I just want the baked potato dry, you understand? I don't want nothing on it."

"No sour cream?"

"No."

"No chives?"

"No." I said it louder.

"No butter?"

"Don't you understand English?" I shouted. "I don't want nothing on it. Nothing. Just bring me a baked potato and a piece of steak."

"Would you prefer the 6-, 8-, or 12-ounce steak, sir?"

"Whatever."

"Would you like to have that rare, medium rare, medium, medium well, well done; or if you prefer, we can butterfly that for you, sir?"

"You know, you're really starting to get on my nerves, Paully Boy. You're really starting to get me steamed."

"Which brings up the veg-etables, sir. Would you like steamed broccoli, creamed corn, sautéed zuchinni, diced carrots and peas, asparagus tips . . ."

I threw my napkin to the floor. "That does it!" I said. I put my face right up to his arrogant kisser and said, "How'd you like to settle this outside?"

He said, "That's fine with me, sir. Would you prefer the parking lot, the side alley, the back entrance, or the street in front of the restaurant?"

"I prefer right here," I said, and sucker punched him.

He ducked. I missed him totally, but he countered with a left hook right under my eye. It was the first time all night he didn't offer me a selection.

I collapsed back into my chair in a state of semiconsciousness. I heard the "oohs" and "ahs" of the people nearby. It sounded like someone in authority rushed over and berated our waiter. How could he do such a thing to a customer? Didn't he realize this could cause a lawsuit?

I felt my tie being unloosened and my collar being unbuttoned, hands slapping my face to awaken me. When I regained my senses, I saw the very concerned maitre d' right in front of my nose. He apologized, offered to buy me a drink, to call the paramedics whatever I wanted.

I said, "No, no. I'll be all right. Just bring me a glass of water."

"Yes sir," he said. "Right away. Would you prefer imported mineral water, bottled water, sparkling water, flavored water, or simply club soda with a wedge of lime?"

Yes, at one time dining out was a relaxing experience.